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Happy Monday. I swam in the bay this weekend for the first time in a few months; the Mavericks surf contest on Saturday was epic; and I'm heading to the warm waters of Mexico later this week. So today's poem is salty. Anyone else hear the call?

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel's kick and the wind's song, and the white sail's shaking,And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;And all I ask is a merry yarn from a lughing fellow-rover,And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.